


two slow dancers

by orphan_account



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff, i want to dance with vivienne at halamshiral :(
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-07-03
Packaged: 2020-06-03 11:42:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19463260
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Vivienne and Lavellan dance at Halamshiral.





	two slow dancers

Lavellan has yet to return from the balcony.

Empress Celene holds court with Briala inside the ballroom. Things will be rough between them for awhile, but Vivienne cannot tell whether or not their reconciliation will be for better or worse. She spotted them sharing a glass of wine—

But that isn’t her current concern. Not at the moment. 

Morrigan had left Lavellan some minutes ago, and none of Lavellan’s other companions had taken the chance to speak to the Inquisitor yet. Perhaps she needs the quiet: to listen to the music, balance herself so she may return to the dance floor and continue wooing the nobles. Vivienne had patiently waited, chatted with a few passing nobles, and strengthens her resolve.

It isn’t as if she’s never privately spoken to Lavellan. For all their differences, in culture and in opinion, her wit is quick enough to surprise even Vivienne at times and her outlook is… refreshing. 

And somehow, this feels more personal.

Lavellan doesn’t turn as Vivienne approaches, heels clicking with each step she takes. “I wouldn’t let your guard down just yet,” Vivienne says, “for I could’ve been an assassin.” 

“But you would’ve taken care of the assassin before I knew it was there,” Lavellan replies. She inclines her head towards Vivienne when she places a hand on the rail before looking back to the garden. “What can I do for you, Vivienne?”

“Nothing, my dear,” Vivienne says. “I merely wanted to check upon you.”

Lavellan nods. “I’m alright. Tired, but I expect everyone else is, too. How the nobles haven’t cleared out by now—”

“You underestimate their appetite for courtly intrigue.”

“I wouldn’t call it courtly intrigue so much as a murder in the garden.” Lavellan purses her lips, the action pulling at her vallaslin. Vivienne pulls her gaze back up to the Inquisitor’s eyes, attention elsewhere. “The grass will grow a little greener, the flowers will be a little prettier. And, of course, nobody will notice because they’ll think it’ll be a bountiful spring.”

Vivienne chuckles. “What a vision you have. Does Varric know you’re writing your own novel?”

It takes a handful of moments for Lavellan to prop an elbow on the railing and look up at Vivienne. She doesn’t want to say she feels uncertain—nor does she want to admit it—but one cannot face down a dragon and have doubts. Against the dragons they’ve slayed together, Lavellan is relatively tame in comparison.

Smaller, too. Vivienne has grown accustomed to looking down at Lavellan, but the Inquisitor seems used to it. 

“I’m not a wordsmith,” Lavellan says. A divertation from their conversation. “I don’t believe I could craft as many metaphors as Varric does.”

Vivienne smiles. “Your reports would suggest otherwise, darling. You have quite the way of describing our fights through words alone.”

“Thank you,” Lavellan says. Her ears twitch; Vivienne lets the conversation fall into a quiet lull as the song changes, studying the woman opposite of her. The long branches of her vallaslin do well to conceal the lines of exhaustion on her face—but Vivienne has grown used to searching for them, so they’re easier to spot. 

All injuries have been healed to the best of Vivienne’s ability. Josephine and Leliana weren’t quite ready to withdraw the Inquisition from the palace; an understandable move, if a tiring one. Lavellan breathes shallowly and avoids moving her fractured wrist too much, while Vivienne feels the ache in her feet and at the base of her spine.

Cassandra, miraculously, got off with a handful of bruises. Varric won’t be moving easily until tomorrow at the earliest, but Vivienne recalls seeing him gesturing expansively to a group of fascinated nobles.

The song is still playing. “Would you care to dance, Inquisitor Lavellan?”

Lavellan blinks. “Dance?”

“I’ll go easy on you, dear,” Vivienne says, stepping back into the middle of the balcony to extend her hand. For a fleeting moment, she longs for a mask—not to hide her own feelings, but to shield herself from the open warmth in Lavellan’s expression.

The corners of her eyes crinkle, lips pulling back from her teeth. It’s not threatening; Lavellan has kept her smiles close-lipped for the duration of the night at Josephine’s insistence, careful not to intimidate any of the partygoers. 

She smiles like she’s poised to take on the world. Vivienne tries not to mirror the enthusiasm in Lavellan’s face, but she knows it’s a failing endeavor if the way Lavellan’s posture opens, closing the distance between them with an easy stride. 

“I would be honored, Madame de Fer,” Lavellan says, hand sliding into Vivienne’s.  
Vivienne keeps her hands light, careful of Lavellan’s injuries. Her lips curl into a smile when Lavellan takes the lead, murmuring, “I didn’t know Josephine had taught you to lead.”

“What kind of Inquisitor would I be if I followed the whims of others?” Lavellan asks with a chuckle. “Contrary to popular belief, the Iron Bull is a proficient dance partner. Josephine sent me to him when I tripped on her shoes one too many times.”

She smothers her laugh before it can get out, but Lavellan smiles slyly up at her. The Iron Bull is nearly three times her height, but defers to the Inquisitor all the same. “Is that so?”

“Indeed. Dorian was quite insistent on coaching,” Lavellan says. “I suppose he was there for other reasons, too, but wouldn’t disclose them.”

“Oh? Has a single night at court turned you into a gossip?”

“As if I could keep anything from you.” Lavellan squeezes Vivienne’s hand, light enough that she could brush it off. But Vivienne takes a chance and squeezes her hand back, trying not to delight in Lavellan’s little smile. “Sometimes I feel as if you have a network that could rival Leliana’s.”

Vivienne hums. “A lady never tells, my darling.”


End file.
